Stealing Beauty
by Killer Likes Candy
Summary: She took less than 10 minutes to steal 15 million in England, he took 50 seconds to steal 72 million in Norway, and they took 80 minutes to steal 300 million in the US. The higher the stakes the better the pay, or the risk. Let's talk about Art.
1. The Art of Robbery

**The Art of Robbery**

**Prelude**

**December 31**

**Oxford, England**

The Ashmolean Museum of Art and Arqueology on Beaumont Street was a magnificent building that demanded the attention of passer byes, tall and elegant in its classic Victorian majesty, it was like a giant protecting its charge. The entrance was copied from the Temple of Apollo in Bassae, and while the Greek demeanor collided with that of the rest, one couldn't help but to gape at all the architecture, or at least, people who loved art, as was the case with the blond haired young woman at its steps.

While the building stood tall and proud there was a significant crack in its defence, there was a contruction site just outside the gallery that was supposed to become a new library extension. The scaffolds were big enough to reach the windows and the ceiling, the impermeables and clother covering just enough for a person to go unoticed.

Smiling in satisfaction she decided it was time to prepare for the party tonight, after all it was New Year's Eve, the streets were going to be filled to the brim with students wanting to celebrate, and the city would be too chaotic to even think of doing much without plans or reservations, even the traffic would be problematic. But well, the messier the city, the better for her.

Returining to her hotel room at Victoria House in George Street, she kept thinking with a mix of childish excitment and teeth chattering anxiety about tonights adventure, everything was in place as there was no room for mistakes. The smoke canister, the clothes, the rope ladder, the watch, the lamp, the wig. Now all that was left was to wait and relax, there was still a debate going on in her mind, between a warm bath or going into a pub for a plate of fish and chips and a warm coup of tea sounded nice at the moment, even though it sounded awfully cliched.

**Ashmolean Museum 23: 45**

Fist was the contruction site, easy enough, she almost felt like Spider Man climbing the scaffolds to the rooftop and the hopping from building to building to the glass ceiling atop the museum. One would think that there would be more security in the developing buildings since the last attempted robbery three years prior, but its seemed they had wanted to help her in her job, so no complaints on her part.

Now the tricky part began. Taking out her diamond-chip-coated cutter she started scratching the glass panel with just the right amount of pressure on the cutting Wheel, smooth lines in an even speed, not to slow or it will cut to deeply, and not to fast for it will be useless, and add some kerosene for it to be smoother. She just needed to cut a small space for her to go through. Once done the next thing was the rope ledder, lamp and container in hand, and she was in.

As soon as her feet hit the ground she made a bee line for the French Impressionist exhibition, passing through a Monet, a Van Gogh and even a Picasso, this was why she loved her job, the art, the rush, the giddy feeling in her stomach and the clear static in her brain. Regretfully she ignored all these master peaces worth a handfull (more like millions) of dollars and mourned the fact that she was here for a concrete job, sotlen to order, and went for her prize, nineteenth century 16in by 22in Paul Cezanne's Auvers-sur-Oise.

Now the quick part, cute the edges and remove the glass, separate the painting, roll it up without tearing it or doing any damage whatsoever, pack it, run out of the exibition and spread the smoke canister to turn on the fire alarms and cover her traces, giving her more time and a smoke curtain to hide from camaras, climb the rope leader, jump and run through the buildings, go out of the contruction site, mix with the throngs of people in the streets, change and go back to Victoria House.

Easier said than done, so with all the steal she had she started as fast as she could, counting down in her head, trying not too take too long, to be careful, calm, collected, she was like a surgeon, and she would perfom a perfect execution. No fucking up, no getting caugh, no damage, no errors. If everything went well they would even know the painting was missing till the dust settled and she would be long gone by then.

The glass shattered and the race began, slashed the painting, smoke canister set off, and the physical part was done and over with quicker than she expected. She did it all in less than 10 minutes. Amid the rushing mob of drunk students she started walking, with a 15 million dollar canvas in hand and a satisfied smile on her lips.

When the robbery was known the news were comparing the robbary to movies like Mission Imposible with the roof entering and The Thomas Crown Affair with the break-in. The investigation was given to the Thamed Valley Police, an even though they have a high rate success in murder cases they are not even class to figure this one out.

Days later the Thamed Valley Police had found the missing Cezanne in a Conventry pub, but as later proved, it wasn't but a poor forgery, Meanwhile the peretrator was already safe in Berlin, standing in front of a mirror taking pleasure in her reflection, her natural pink hair was finally free from the confines of a wig, her green eyes gazing with mirth, her mouth set in a cinical smile, she was all glitter and deception.

* * *

**February 11**

**Oslo, Norway**

The National Art Gallery was an old building, it stood among the snow, the picture perfect of a postcard or Christmas photograph. And the city, full of lights and snow was blinding. It had that kind of weather where one can be on the streets for a little while and the heat of food and company made you think of long forgotten fairy tales and rendezvous. The thought of warm soup and a drink or two was completely appealing tonight. It was supposed to be mid-February but it appeared that this town liked to be in the Ice Age, well most of Europe, now that he thought about it, but yet he didn't seem to mind, as much as he loved the sun- as proven by his tan skin and blond hair- it was nice living outside the clock sometimes.

The Norwegian Cultural Festival was going to be in full swing by tomorrow, and the Winter Olympics in Lillehammer were well on their way, all in all the town was shaking with a contageous excitment. Apparently it was going to be an all-nighter to some people, but not him, he was here for bussiness and pleasure- mostly pleasure- and while his task wasn't an easy one it sure as hell was a fast one. He would be snoring in his bed before anyone knew what was happening. It was a damn shame he would be leaving so soon, a week wasn't enough to glimpse the city, all those slides and bars, and norwegian chicks and clubs, and so much to do, so little time, he was always a sucker for foreign coutries. He would be leaving tomorrow night, board a plane at the Sandefjord Airport.

But as much as he wanted to enjoy the nightlife he decided that a little nap could hurt, and went back to the Scandic Hotel Edderkoppen- just a Nancy unpronounsable name- tomorrow would be a long day, god how he hated airports.

**National Art Gallery 6:00**

Wire cutter, check. Ladder, check. Stolen car keys, check. Hammer, check. Adrenaline, by the tons. This was going to be fun. His target was supposed to be in the first floor for the exhibition, in the room by the window infront of him. He positioned the ladder, and started climbing, anticipation building, the first steps went by and he noticed that for some weird reason it was slippery, too slippery, and as soon as his mind registered it he lost his footing, like a blind man his hand made the pitiful attempt at groping for any leverage, and while equilibrium eluded him he hitted his head against the wall and promtly fell on his ass with an undignified yelp, cursing cursing under his breath all deities known to men. Glad no one was around to notices his slip up he tried again to climb and conquer this new monster now known to him as The Ladder From Hell- that thing was a slippery bugger- took the hammer and with a triumphant grin unceremoniously smashed it against the window of Room 10 and without wasting a seconds went to cut the wired holding Edgard Munch's The Scream, took the iconic painting and left.

It just took 50 seconds to steal a painting valued at $72 million.

The police guard called the police seconds after the window was smashed and the alarm went off. The police took minutes and when it finally arrived it met an empty space, a broken mirror and a postcard that read "Thanks for the poor security" a mocking line than even attracted Scotland Yard.

The lack of security in the first floor, and the overall building, with the added arrogance of the staff made this possible, as no one though anyone would dare to steal such a well-known masterpiece, traceable and while priceless, pretty much recognisible all around the World, and for such, it couldn't be sold.

While the police was looking for any evidence, the museum was being bombarded by accusations of lack of security, the Winter Olympics athletes were suspected, art lovers where mourning the lost iconic painting, and even protest groups were planning on claiming the art theft, the robber was laughing in a Mercedes, thinking about his next stop: Berlin, Germany.

* * *

**March 18**

**Massachussets, USA**

The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum looked like an old church to him, although it was modeled as an Italian Palazzo, while the incide was impresibe, with a long green garden, and its rooms were rich in color and decor, it lacked impression on the ouside, the only thing noticeable about the brown structure from outside were its windows, and not by much. Every room had its own personality, the masterpieces hanging on the walls breathed something akin to life and beauty in its purest form. He always preferred interior design over arquitecture, he just thought that what the exterior hid and protected was so much better.

As he walked in like he owned the place he went to his favorite room, the Dutch Room, with green silk wallpaper lining the walls and framed by a terracotta cobbled floor and an oak timbered ceiling. A Van Dyck was hanging besides a Rubens, which was near a Rembrandt and by the window a Vermeer all encaged in gold frames, all worth millions. He has always loved art, since he was a kid he liked reading, and from then on all kinds of art appealed to him, especially Visual Art.

Regretfully he tored his gaze away from the paintings and went to a restaurant near by, he had a lunch with his brother, and he had a feeling it was going to take a while.

**Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum 19:30**

They entered the restaurant though the front door wearing casual clothes and glasses, the left through the back door as Boston police officers. With a full constume on, badge and attitude to match they went back to the Gardner Museum after hours. There were supposed to be two security guards, no further security system outside the main one that could be desactivated.

The fist step was going in. They climbed the steps and alerted the guard on duty of their presence. The story was simple and believable enough to be passed as truthful.

When the guard inquired what was the problem, the two false officers claimed having been called to the Museum, when the guard denied such action they simple asked to look around and see if everything was alright, the guard broke protocol after being easily persuaded and let them in.

The second step was overpowering the security guards. After a superficial inspection of the near rooms, one of the officers asked the guard to aproach him, luring him away from any panic bottons and communication devices, then told him he recognized him, as there was a warrant out for his arrest and poptly asked him to call the other guard on duty. Once the missing guard arrived the thieves handcuffed them and duct taped, leading them to the basement to be found the next day by the morning shift.

The third step was collecting the art work. Going back to the Dutch Room the younger of the two started collecting, taking Rembrandt's only seascape, Storm on the Sea of Galilee, with its neighbore, Vermeer's Concert, along with two other Rembrandts, A Lady and a Gentleman in Black and Self Portrait, while the eldest went for five sketches of Degas, Cortege aus Environs de Florence, Three Mounted Jockeys, La Sortie du Pelage and Program for an Artistic Soiree 1 y 2, Manet's Chez Tortoni and a Landscape with an Obelisk by Finck. All this process went leisurly and with care, selecting the paintings to be taken, they even went as far as to take a bronze finial from a Napoleonic battle flag as a souvenir. All this in over 80 minutes.

It was easy, by far one of the most lucrative jobs they had ever done, and all with barely any effort. The estimated value: $300 million.

Now everytime someone goes into the Dutch Room, with green silk wallpaper lining the walls and framed by a terracotta cobbled floor and an oak timbered ceiling, they will see a Van Dyck was hanging besides a Rubens, with the focus of the room in the empty gold frame at its side and another missing peace by the window.

Once the FBI got involved along with a $5 million reward, the two thieves were already in Europe, on their way to the land of the long gone Third Reich.

* * *

_Everyone should know by know who robbed what and whats going on. Next chapter they meet in the country that inherited looting and Art robbery from Rome and Napoleon in WWII... and was later stripped by the Soviet Union... so yeah Willkommen in Deutschland! Sometime... soon... I'm studying for my Med exams so don't expect much... Med School is a bitch... more accurately I'm its bitch... FML._

_I tried to make this as accurate as possible, I messed up the years for them to fit here but the actual days and months, timing, places facts and paintings are non-fictional and should be pretty close to the real deal. Crimes against Art has become one of my obsessions, and I'm impressed by it, it's really interesting, so inspiration hit._


	2. Painting Berlin

Everyone knows about World War II, and most people know how the man behind it was, in his early stages of life, nothing than just a third-rate painter aspiring to be one of the masters in Vienna, and if he had done that, then he would have caused a lot less harm, but that didn't happen, what took place was a not just a war and a country looking for gold and territory, but also an international art demolition, following the steps of the Romans and Napoleon, stealing and destroying over 75, 000 art works, forming a black hole in Art History.

Many of these painting were hidden in cellars, castles and even in open display in museums, some were later found in salt and abandoned mines, mountain paths and lakes. This tradition of art looting has not disappeared but evolved as years go by, making profits for those who know the trade.

.

.

* * *

.

.

**Painting Berlin**

**La Prima Nota**

**April 3rd**

**Berlin, Germany**

-The answer is no.

He didn't know what was worse, his father trying to persuade him again for another job interview or his brother shamelessly flirting with the hoard of gushing fangirls that kept granting on his nerves with their very breath.

-Another job interview little brother?- asked Itachi while casually sipping his tea and sending the fangirls away with a charming smile- You can't hide here forever, eventually we have to come back and you have to prove that your degree isn't just a wall decoration.

-Shut it. I don't want to hear it.- He snapped shut his phone and went back to eating, ignoring the knowing look in his brother's eyes and that mocking smirk on his lips. Sometimes he hated his family a little too much to be healthy.

With a sigh the younger decided the time they took their leave had arrived. It was nice leaving the country for awhile, it meant no family matters and less stress, too be perfectly honest he didn't miss Tokyo one bit. His brother on the other hand seemed absolutely thrilled by the freedom of not knowing anyone and not being known.

-You should bright up, it's not everyday that we are alone in Germany with the luxury of free time, you know we have to return in three days.

The only response was a glare and a mouthed set of profanities, followed by the abrupt depart of the younger sibling. They had to fill out some forms for the shipment for some of their art work to Japan, and they had postponed it long enough. Rubbing his temples in an attempt to lessen his ongoing headache he caught his brother's hair in a fist and dragged him away from the waitress. He wanted to go to Wildenstein and fill those forms before sunset.

Wildenstein & Co., a global multibillion dollar business that presides over one of the most prestigious art dealerships in the world, run by the Wildenstein family since it's start, five generations ago. It holds galleries and vaults full of paintings and sculptures from all around the globe. It's also a place for money laundry, tax evasion and stolen art storing and selling. It was the home of 20 paintings by Van Gogh, stolen from the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam two years ago on April 15 in the account 1678 owned by Alexandra Landsberg, in which Paul Cezanne's Auvers-sur-Oise was recently added in January. In the same vault were six art works by Picasso and two by George Braque missing from the Modern Museum in Stockholm since its theft four years ago on December 22, with the new addition of Edgard Munch's The Scream in the account 1625 owned by Ryo Akimoto. Taking half of the room were 12 paintings robbed just two weeks ago from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston, owned by Eric and Claude Bernard in the account 1682. The remaining space was shared by three other accounts with four paintings and two sculptures, all legitimate and with an average price of 15 thousand euros. All of these treasures were in Vault 16-B under the care of Ino Yamanaka.

The lobby was big and luxurious, all mahogany and marble with glass walls and steel edges, a couple of flowers and leather sofas gave the room color and sobriety, the television was airing a set of biddings and art history snapshots, while the elevator didn't stop running up and down with busy people.

-Hello Sir, how may I be of assistance?- said a pretty blond secretary that stopped mid sentence her phone conversation in order to pay attention to the two good looking men in front of her desk.

-Well, hello beau…- as the elder was leaning towards the blond his brother decided he didn't have time for this nonsense and cut him off.

-Eric and Claude Barnard, here are our identifications, account 1682, Vault 16-B, relocation forms- the cold tone and raspy voice left no room for argument, making the secretary freeze and start typing furiously in her computer, not brave enough to look them in eye but curious enough to nervously twitch her eyes in their direction.

-1682… Vault 16-B… oh God- the surprised and terrified look on her eyes didn't sit well with either brother, making them grow more suspicious as the secretary looked anywhere but at them.

-What do you mean "Oh God"?- asked Itachi with an edge of irritation, he didn't like the sound of that and he was getting more impatient by the second.

-It's… It's gone.- by the time she finished that sentence the men were looming over her, making her tremble in fear and worry.

-Gone?- taking her arm and seeing how the woman just opened and closed her mouth like a fish, Itachi decided to check the computer and see for himself what was going on while his brother used the phone to get some answers.

After calling the supervisors and going into the vault they knew a couple of things: their paintings were long gone, they have been missing since last night, there were 5 other people who stored in their vault, and lastly, but by far the most important, it was under the care of Ino Yamanaka, and this morning the vault's contents and herself had vanished.

.

.

* * *

.

.

-What the fuck do you want bastard?- almost yelled a distraught blond wearing nothing but his boxers and a pair of socks.

-It's sunset, how come you are still sleeping?- asked the newcomer as he casually invited himself in and saw in disgust the state of the room, fast food and beer cans littered the floor along stained shirts and some shoes, books and paper covered the table and soup bowls proliferated, it was a mess.- You had a party here or are you just a pig?

-What? Oh, just a couple of girls, you know the drill… wait I forgot you're asexual- a beer bottle and a raised eyebrow where the only warning he needed to shut up, apparently the raven headed man was in a bad mood.

-Has the Wildenstein contacted you?- the question automatically sombered the mood, marking their faces with serious lines.

-Were they supposed to, Sasuke?- he went to sit down in the couch near the window where the his companion now stood lighting a cigarette, looking at the city deep in thought.

-The vault was emptied and the person in charge is missing, I just found out a couple of hours ago.- they both knew what that meant.

-Does Tsunade know? Any leads? What are we supposed to do? How a- the blond received a smack in the head by all that tirade of questions, all valid but overwhelming, this was a serious matter.

-No, I don't believe she does, she would have our asses otherwise, we have a name, Ino Yamanaka, and 5 other from the vault's accounts, Itachi's dealing with the background checks right now. We have a day maybe two if we are lucky till news reach the Yamagushi and we need some information so they don't start coming after us.

-My painting was supposed to be given to the Inagawa for the weapon trade, we need another one or it's going to blow up Tokyo.- that new piece of information made him worry, the relationship between the Yamagushi-gumi and the Inagawa-kai clans was hanging on the balance, they needed to keep them on their side.

-Ours where supposed to be for money laundry.

-All of it? Don't believe I don't know what you and Itachi did in the States.- he may not be the best informed person but he wasn't blind either and he knew just how much his friend had stolen.

-Real State and Art are the only things that gain value over time, and a painting is more easily hidden. We took what my father asked and a painting or two for us.

-Right- he didn't believe him even for a seconds but who was he to judge? After all they were in this mess together for better or worse, definitely worse.- but we still have the Sumiyoshi problem. When would Itachi have the information?

-You know him, we should get going- as he said those words he took his leave, dodging peaces of garbage on the floor and throwing a shirt over his shoulder so the blond could get dressed and get out.

-Granny sure as hell is going to have a seizure…- he chuckled to himself, while paling when he though what she would do to them once she found out, she may be a little old but she was still their boss, and a scary one at that, one doesn't get to be the leader of Japan's largest Yakuza clan for nothing.

.

.

* * *

.

.

Sakura Haruno was nothing but cautious, she knew how to recognize a nice deal when she saw one, knew when a painting was a forgery, just as she knew she was being followed. It was the subtle outline of a three piece suit, the reflected light on polished Italian shoes, and the graceful turning of his body as he moved though the masses of people on the street. She spotted him 3 blocks ago and she didn't know for how long, by the look of his attire he wasn't going to mob her, and that made her worry even more.

By seven she knew about the disappearing act on her vault. By eight she knew her tail had something to do with it, by eight she went into a bar and waited.

Walking out with a group of French tourist she took the safe route and hopped into a taxi, dropping off her companions in their hotel and taking the long way to her apartment, she thought the mystery man from earlier had given up after five hours of waiting and the long ride, so she paid, got out and walked into the building.

Minutes after locking her door and putting on her slippers there was a knock on the door.

-Who is it?

-Ms. Landsberg we are from Wildenstein & Co. we would like to ask you a few questions.- a cold voice indicating business responded.

-It's a little late for that don't you think?- suspicion laced her every word and she wasn't thinking about opening her door any time soon.

-Vault 16-B was robbed this morning, you know that by now don't you? You are one of the five owners of the pieces in it, and you weren't a small collectionist either.- the humor in his tone let her remember just how many millions she had lost in there, it hurt.

-Are you the police or something?- It made no sense, the Wildenstein wasn't that stupid, and if he was she was going to make a run for it.

-By the type of art works you had no, it would crumple the place if we let the police in it, we have too many clients like you. The files are confidential, but I'm sure you know that.- He had a point there, she knew the moment she signed the membership papers how they dealt with art and what type of business it ran. Begrudgingly she opened the door and allowed him entrance.

Instead of just one man, two men entered, a blond and a raven haired one, they looked in their mid twenties and professional. The blond was tanned, with messy hair and the deepest blue eyes she had seen in a while, a straight and small nose, he had some scars in his face, marking his cheeks with fine lines, his mouth was set in a playful smirk showing small dimples and his lax posture made his build more prominent. His partner on the other hand was his complete opposite, he had black hair with a bluish tint and extremely pale features that only highlighted his eyes, a blue so dark she would have thought to be black if not for the light reflecting it, his face screamed aristocrat and emanated arrogance, yet it was soft, almost feminine, and he was not happy, his mouth set in a pale thin line.

-What is your relationship with Ino Yamanaka?- straight to the point, the curt voice broke her out of her reverie, and thought for the fist time what kind of mess Ino had left her into.

-Childhood friends, we met in boarding school over ten years ago, I haven't seen her in a month, last thing I heard she was here in Berlin.

- Was she your fence? We know your profession Ms. Haruno, tell us what we want to know and we'll leave.- that made her freeze, they knew her real name, exactly how much did they knew about her?

-Yes, and no, I don't know where she is.- she started to feel threatened and uncomfortable. The blond man kept quiet near the doorway, before she thought he was looking around or stretching his legs, now she knew he was guarding her door.

-Two of the owners had legitimate paintings not worth much, we are the other two and you the remaining one. You're a thief and friends with the missing person who stole from us, sounds fishy.- All pretence and subtlety was lost, they weren't going to play nice, this was serious business.

-Who are you?- the only guess she had was that they were like her, but the question was, how dangerous?

-Sasuke Uchiha and Naruto Usumaki, from the Yamagushi gumi, I know you can at least recognize one name.- his smile only promised trouble and threat.

And for the fist time that night she did what she was supposed to do since the beginning. She screamed bloody murder, before they knocked her out and took her into their car.

.

.

* * *

.

_The Weldenstein, the paintings and dates are all real, some of these robberies are from over two decades ago and some have been recovered. Hope I made a good fist chap (:_

_Now back to Chemistry... Damn, who doesn't hate MCATs and admission tests... I'm going to quit school and go to Tijuana to become a barman..._


End file.
